The Grim Reaper.

After sending Reudem away to begin his preparations, Atlas asked the Baron to leave him alone. He then spent the next few hours holed up inside the office, practicing his language, going through the profiles of his citizens, deciding on how to efficiently exploit them, etc.

He finally stopped when the traces of light coming into the office through the gaps between the wooden planks turned dark. The complete absence of any brightness signified the arrival of dusk within this swamp town.

Gathering the sheets of parchments and stacking them up, the young prince then put them inside one of the drawers. Resting his quill in its stand, he then got up from his seat and walked out of the darkened room.

Moving through the small connecting passageway, Atlas came into the living room. Oil lanterns were kept on the tops of the various flat surfaces sprawled across the rooms, providing light to combat the darkness while casting long, eerie shadows.

It was after seeing this sight that Atlas was hit by palpable realization; he really had been transmigrated into a fantasy world.

Not even the monsters, the encounter with a centuries-old magical being, or his multiple brushes with near-certain death drove home this fact.

Atlas felt reality at the realization that this world or this town at least, had no light bulbs or electricity.

'So many hectic things have happened in quick succession since my arrival here that I glossed over many things. But man, it truly is a medieval century life here, huh?'

Atlas thought to himself with a smile.

Sure, he might not have his electricity or his fancy bed or television…or nothing actually. The medieval century was a barren time with almost no easily available entertainment to speak of.

'I mean, I can always accuse someone and watch them be stoned to death. Do they do it here? I wonder if they do it here. That sounds like it would be something fun to watch.'

Perhaps it could wait until he solidifies his power a little more. Right now, Atlas was relying on the goodwill of the Baron and he would rather not test the man's limits.

'Speaking of the Baron, where is he?'

Atlas looked around. The manor was oddly quiet and no one seemed to be present in it.

"Baron Helm? Are you here?" He called out and received no answer. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

"My lord."

"ARGH!" Atlas jumped back with fright and quickly turned around. Within the dim shadows, he saw a tall, proper-looking silhouette of a man.

The shadow moved its hands to grab a lantern kept on a table near it. Brining it nearer, the light finally illuminated the shadowy figure.

It was Butler Rohm, the Baron's chief of staff and aide.

"Oh, it's you," Atlas deadpanned while resting his palm over his thumping chest. It took him no shame to admit that he was genuinely freaked.

"Where is Baron Helm?"

"The master has gone out to address the people outside," Butler Rohm politely replied. Unlike his polite tone, however, his face maintained a stoic, indifferent expression.

Nodding his head in response, Atlas lowered his hand having calmed down. He then walked over to a long wooden bench furnishing the living room and sat on it.

He then leaned his tired, petite body against the backrest and closed his eyes. Maintaining a neutral expression on his face, Atlas thought to himself.

'He's still staring at me.'

Indeed. Butler Rohm was unflinchingly staring at him.

'I don't feel any hostile intent from his gaze, but it isn't friendly either. He's staring at me with exact indifference.'

This wasn't Atlas' first encounter with Butler Rohm. To be precise, this was his second time. The first time was when the butler had brought him a clean set of clothes to wear.

Atlas wasn't exactly sure why, but he felt an unnerving presence from the fifty-something-year-old butler; there was just something about this stoic expression, unblinking eyelids, and prim demeanor that greatly unsettled the young prince.

'Ugh. It doesn't seem like he's going to move away. He's STILL gazing at me.' Unable to bear this stressful gaze any longer, the prince opened his eyes.

Turning to face the stoic butler, whose straight figure held the oil lantern with an unshaken grip, Atlas was suddenly reminded of the grim reaper that comes in the dearth of the day to claim lost souls.

'Well, he does look grim enough to be the reaper.'

"Do you have anything to say to me, Butler Rohm?" the young prince asked.

"I do, my lord. It's a message from the master," the servant promptly replied.

'Well, why didn't you just say that instead of staring at me? What a weirdo.' Atlas thought within his mind but showed a smile on his face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Master informed me that it would take him a while to get back from meeting with the peasants. He asks you to have dinner without him and rest for the day. He fears that Your Highness overworking might have some adverse effects on your ill body."

'Thank the Gods! I was just cursing the man for not being here when I arrived. This is great. I can eat and go to sleep.'

The day had been exhausting for Atlas. Hunger had been gnawing at him for some time and the bruises around his body were starting to act up. The fact that everything smelled like the interiors of a public latrine didn't help either.

"Let's do just that then," Atlas happily intoned.

"Please follow me, my lord," Butler Rohm mechanically replied and led Atlas towards the dining room.

Dinner wasn't anything special. It was just more of the same gruel that he had eaten in the evening.

After slogging through the meal, all while mentally complaining about how bland and tasteless the food was. There seemed to be an absence of salt in the Baron's pantry.

'I should ask him about that. How can you not have any salt?'

He was then led to his room where he would retire for the night. After sending away the unnerving butler, Atlas undressed.

The coarse material of this peasantry clothing had been chafing against this smooth skin for the entire day causing him immense irritation. The fact that multiple bruises covered his body did not do him favors either.

'I NEED to find better clothing. How could I, a son of the king, wear such cheap clothes!?' Atlas righteously declared after staring at his reddened skin.

'That reminds me. I still haven't had a look at my face. I wonder how I look.'

He absentmindedly touched his face. Atlas then shrugged his shoulder and gave up. 'I can do it tomorrow.'

Getting on his bed, he lied against the hard wooden board covered with a beast-skin mattress. Covering himself with the thin blanket provided, he then proceeded to close his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

And that marked the end of the first full-day in Atlas' life as a leader to the masses. It would be the first in, hopefully, many long years to come.